


His Predecessor

by Blueskullcandy



Category: Linked Universe - Fandom, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, I ...love four....I caaanot, change this, he really shouldn't believe everything he reads in books, lw in the discord, mostly time angst actually, still definitely kinda in that same vein of four loving hours tho, twi and war are just mentioned, wrote this to take a little break from alone together, young time is angy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23391448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueskullcandy/pseuds/Blueskullcandy
Summary: “In a time long, long ago, before the Gorons settled in Mount Crenel and renamed it Death Mountain and before the Zora swam up from downstream to claim their Domain, there was a kingdom called Hyrule. And in that kingdom, there was a very special boy.”“And that boy’s name was Link.”After that, Saria would come back every few nights to tell him the story of the Hero of the Minish.
Comments: 22
Kudos: 226





	His Predecessor

**Author's Note:**

> Ah. Hello.
> 
> I got the idea for this fic this morning, had to write it, did a live write in the discord (a first for me) and now I'm here.
> 
> This is pretty raw with minimal editing/ re writing. Just something for fun to relax a bit.
> 
> Hope you like Time angst and young Time being angy.

Before he even met any of the others, before he stepped through the swirling violet portal, dread pooling in his stomach, before he said goodbye to his wife, memorizing her face in case he never saw it again, before he met eight extremly stupid boys and before his family expanded to include said extremly stupid boys, Time knew there were other heroes.

Before any of this had happened, Time knew there were at least three others who shared his spirit. Who shared his terrible fate.

The first, he had met in person.

Stumbling from the Lost Woods disoriented, years older in mind if not in body, still missing the friend he had sacrificed so much to find, and tired, just so so _tired_ , Time hadn't cared where he was walking as long as it took him farther away from the forest.

He wanted to be as far away from his old home as possible, the fear of being pulled into another world, another adventure burning in his heart, spurring his tired legs onward.

He didn't know his attempt to save himself was futile at best and downright stupid at worst. Because, regardless of how hard he struggled, how far he trudged along on bruised legs, there was no escaping the fact that he had walked out of the wrong Lost Woods.

However, It didn't take Time long to figure it out. Death Mountain was in the wrong place. His Hyrule didn't have a large, floating island hovering over the land. His Hyrule didn't have a section of land covered and odd floating black...whatever it was. 

His Hyrule wasn't at war. 

And, perhaps most obvious of all, his Hyrule had him, not the cocky scarf wearing man who looked like an older, probably prettier version of him.

And so Time met the Hero of Warriors, the Savior of Hyrule, and his impromptu, wartime big brother.

The second, Time did not meet in person. 

Not in the flesh anyway, if he was permitted to make such a joke.

Time had been plagued with dreams his whole life. 

Dreams of the past. Memories of monsters, of bones snapping into horrifying, inhuman positions, of days repeating repeating repeating. They punched him awake in a cold sweat, cries of pain on his lips, his scars aching, the marks on his face burning.

Malon could talk him down easily enough, her voice soothing him like it could any skittish horse.

Perhaps more concerningly, however, were his dreams of the future.

Sometimes they were innocuous. He knew how many eggs the cuccos had laid before he checked the coop. He knew when a cow was going to pass weeks before the poor thing started showing warning signs.

Other times they were dire, like the one he had so many years ago, the night before his dreams of having a fairy came true. Before his life was turned upside down and shredded into an incomprehensible mess.

Or like the ones he had experienced for months a few years ago. 

In these dreams, his body was not his own; skin gone, bones bleached white, and wearing a set of armor that had long since been reclaimed by nature, sprouting moss and pulled apart by vines.

In these dreams, he could not control the body that was not his body in any way. He was a passive observer from behind spectral eyes. 

In these dreams he saw a boy. Some may have argued that he was a man, but Time knew he was a boy. Could see it in the fear in his eyes, the untrained grip on his sword, the desperation to prove himself, to save the people he cared about.

And so Time met the Hero of Twilight, the Savior of Hyrule, and the boy he would grow to love as a son.

The third, Time had known about for a long time. Almost his whole life, he would say.

When he was young in all the ways that counted, he used to have a hard time falling asleep. The forest around him was too loud, too alive for him to rest peacefully.

“It's because you don’t belong here!” Mido had spat at him once when Time had decided to tell Saria about his problem after his third night without sleep. “Everyone knows only fairies and Kokiri are meant to be in the forest, stupid.”

The bully had ignored Time’s insistence that he was a Kokiri, even if he didn't have a fairy yet.

“It’s because you’re not magic,” Fado had agreed matter of factly as Time had stomped back to his house angrily. “Look at the bags under your eyes. You’re turning into a Stalkid. Soon you’ll be nothing but bones.”

“It's because you’re special, Link,” Saria had assured him as she sat down next to his bed that night, a small book in hand as she tucked him under the sheets. 

Apparently she had asked the Great Deku Tree for advice in helping Time to sleep and the giant tree had recommended telling him stories.

The girl had leafed through the pages until she found the chapter she had wanted and then turned the entire thing around so Time could see too. 

There, splashed across both pages, was a painting of a boy. He had daisy colored hair, just like Time, though it was longer, shoulder length where Time’s was a close chopped bundle of hay on his head. 

In the painting, the boy was kneeling, a sword floating above his outstretched hands, small figures in red and green gathered around his feet.

After Time had gotten his fill looking at the book, Saria had flipped it back toward herself so she could read.

“There once was a boy who was just as special as Link,” she had begun and Link had giggled swatting at her. 

“Those aren’t the words!” he had said, the words interspaced with laughs.

“Okay, okay,” Saria had agreed, laughing as well. 

She cleared her throat and started again.

“In a time long, long ago, before the Gorons settled in Mount Crenel and renamed it Death Mountain and before the Zora swam up from downstream to claim their Domain, there was a kingdom called Hyrule. And in that kingdom, there was a very special boy.”

“And that boy’s name was Link.”

After that night, Saria would come back every few nights to tell him the story of the Hero of the Minish.

At first he had loved them; the stories of heroism, of saving the princess and defeating the evil had easily lulled him to sleep, Saria’s high, lilting voice soothing in the dark hours of night.

But as Time got older, the story started to sour. Little things, little details about the hero started to push at Time’s mind. It was like having a pebble in his shoe; uncomfortable and grinding, leaving him feeling tender and sore.

“The hero had a faerie companion, but not like the ones we have. His companion was named Ezlo and he was a Minish.”

“So he got to have a faerie even though he isn’t a Kokiri?” Time had asked, feeling something gross like mud and biting like hunger rise in his belly.

Saria had blinked at him from over the book, her face going from surprised to guilty.

“W-well, he-”

“No!” Time shouted. “That’s not fair! I’m a Kokiri and I don’t have a faerie! Why did he get to have one?”

Saria had nothing to say to that so she said nothing, closed the book and blew out Time’s candle after he refused to hug her goodnight.

And so Time had been left alone to stew in the darkness, angry and unable to sleep.

 _What’s so special about him?_ Time had thought, angrily.

The hero was just some stupid kid. He wasn't even a Kokiri or anything, just some Hylian who happened to be friends with the princess. There was nothing special about him, so why?

 _What does he have that I don’t?_ Time would ask himself, curling tighter into his blankets

Saria had said the different faeries, the Minish, loved the hero. They welcomed him into their communities, into their homes, into their circle of family and friends with love. They gave him the power to become one of them, the power to shrink and live among them.

 _Why?_ Time had asked as his pillow became wet under his head. 

He rolled over and ignored it.

_Why does he get to be a hero and not me?_

And so, Time came to know and hate the Hero of the Minish and the Four Sword, Savior of Hyrule, and the person who had everything he had ever wanted.

And that hatred didn't abate even when he had started his own journey.

When he had first stepped from his home, leaving the shade of the treeline for the first time, he had tears in his eyes. His father was dead. The Great Deku Tree asked Time to save him and he _wasn't fast enough._

The stupid Hero of the Minish never had to face this. Never had to face this heartbreak to be allowed to leave home, perhaps never to return again. Never had to face anything like this to be a hero. 

He was handed his stupid adventure on a stupid silver platter with a stupid warm bed to go back to every night if he wanted it. He remembers. Saria had said so.

 _Why did he get it easy?_ Time had asked, scrubbing his face until it was red as he stumbled out of the woods and toward the looming castle from his nightmares dreams. 

It wasn't fair! It. Wasn’t. Fair. 

From then on, Time couldn't help but feel his bitterness toward the Hero of the Minish grow with every step he took.

When he was in Dodongo's Cavern, he recalled Saria’s tale recounting the other hero’s journey through the Mines of Mt. Crenel. He remembered how the forest girl had spoken about old minecarts the hero traversed the cavern in, adding her own giggling scream sound effects as she mimicked the fun the other had while in the Cavern of Flames.

There were no minecarts in Dodongo's Cavern. There was skin searing lava. There was air that was almost too thick and heavy to breath. There were Beamos and Armos and Lizalfos armed to the teeth, baying for blood. 

When he was swallowed by Lord Jabu-Jabu, he remembered that the Hero of the Minish completed many of his dungeons– though Time had started to wonder if any of them could be considered dungeons. Stupid Minish Hero and his stupid easy quest– in his smaller, faerie form.

While surrounded by pulsating walls, acid, and horrific smells, Time had wondered if the Hero of the Four Sword had ever faced something like this.

 _Probably not._ He had thought derisively. _He would run screaming if he saw all this._

Even at the zenith of his adventure, Time hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the other hero.

 _Stupid Minish Hero,_ Time had spat in his mind, arms laden with the gems necessary for unlocking the sword of evil’s bane as he entered the hallowed temple.

His and Zelda’s plan was nearing its completion. He was almost done. And then he could go back to Saria and show her how much better of a hero he was that undeserving moron. 

A hero a million times better than that wimpy Hero of the Four Sword.

 _I mean, how dumb can you get?_ Time had thought smugly as he fitted each Spiritual Stone into place. _Falling for that shadow’s ploy? Taking a sword of sealing? What an idiot._

_I never would have made that mistake._

Time pressed the Ocarina to his lips and played the Song of Time, just like he was supposed to.

Before him, the door had opened, and beyond their massive stone edifices was a circular room with a pedestal in the middle. Jutting from the stone and gleaming in the fractal green, red, blue, and violet light of the stained glass windows, was the Master Sword.

He approached the blade, Saria’s story once again ringing in his ear.

“The hero went to pull his magical sword from the stone,” she had said. “He was desperate to save Zelda.”

Time remembers how she would always pause for effect. When he was younger he had loved it. When he was older, he would roll his eyes.

“But something was wrong,” she continued, voice growing hushed, adding to the drama. “Vaati, the sealed wind mage, had corrupted the blade during his imprisonment. He tainted the pure elemental magic, warping it to hurt the hero as soon as he drew the sword.”

“So, when the hero pulled the blade from the pedestal....”

“He _shattered_.”

Time snorted as he strode up the small amount of steps toward the altar. Toward the sword. Toward success.

Toward his fate.

He imagined the boy from the painting from so many years ago. He imagined the blade that had floated above the boy’s hands and then he visualized it thrust through a rock. He imagined the boy with hay colored hair that was nothing like the daisy yellow that was his own struggling to pull his own stupid blade from the stone.

He imagined the boy falling apart, limbs crumbling to dust, head rolling away on the floor.

 _What kind of hero is destroyed by their weapon?_ Time had thought, sick vindication filling him as he laid his hands on the pommel.

It was too big for his hands. 

_A bad one._ He thought. 

And then he pulled, the sword coming free in his hands as he was enveloped in light.

...

It wasn’t until he awoke seven years later to a destroyed kingdom, a missing princess, and a body that wasn't his own that Time spared a moment to wonder if the shattering the Hero of the Four Sword had undergone was mental, not physical.

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream at me @ fuckit-hero-of-trains on Tumblr. I love talking about stuff so hit me up!


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